


These Watsons

by FourCornersHolmes, I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, But he's not too rough, For which I make no apologies, John uses a crop on Sherlock, Just rough enough, M/M, Rosie is really sweet at the end, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, So there is a little bit of fluff, Wow, but mostly it's smut, that's a real tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCornersHolmes/pseuds/FourCornersHolmes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: Sherlock and John ask Mrs. Holmes to take Rosie for a week so they can have some alone time. They spend it shagging each other senseless.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Watson,
> 
> Thank you for every email, every text, every hello, every goodbye, every laugh, every tear, every minute of every day.
> 
> Forever yours,  
> Holmes

* * *

For all of its comforts, the room was still a cell. Sherlock was still being held against his will. It looked like a regular bedroom, one that anyone could sleep in at night. But it wasn't just any old bedroom and he got very little sleep in that bed.

He was always kept naked. Most of the time he could move around freely, unchained but _he_ – his kidnapper, his tormentor – was always with him. Always waiting for Sherlock to step out of line. The more he resisted the harder the crop came down and so help him, sometimes Sherlock resisted for that very reason. It gave meaning to his imprisonment to know that it was more than his pride that was paying the price for his arrogance, for his recklessness, for his daring. John had been kidnapped so many times that Sherlock had thought himself immune. Nobody ever dared to take him; they all took John to get _to_ Sherlock.

But Sherlock had finally met the man who would rip away all that false sense of security. Here Sherlock was, even now, tied to the bed once again, exactly as he had been for four long, brutal days. He was face down this time, as the man he wanted to hate slid his lips slowly up the back of Sherlock's knees, his tongue darting out occasionally to lick a spot already tender from the crop or from the rabid sucking bruising teeth of the man behind him.

"John," Sherlock moaned.

"Yes?" John said throatily.

"You shouldn't have answered me," Sherlock said, but too aroused to be upset. "You broke the fantasy."

"Should I bring out the crop again?" John said, teasing.

 _The crop_ was really only a sliver of plastic – it hurt just the right amount, although John, of course, could wield it well enough to leave Sherlock gasping at the biting sting of it on the backs of his thighs or his backside. He always arched up into it, embarrassed (but not ashamed) to love the pain it caused. It was a pain that was temporary and left behind a sly, sexy ache so that the next day when John slid his hand over the back of Sherlock's thighs even through his trousers, Sherlock would feel the ache and remember John fucking him hard enough that he had banged his head on the wall. He had been hard immediately and John had gotten down on his knees and sucked him off, his cheeks hollowing with the energy of it. Sherlock had gripped his hair and fucked John's mouth exactly as John had fucked his arse the night before. When he came, Sherlock had unthinkingly held John's head in place until John gagged and Sherlock released him gasping _Oh my God, I’m sorry, John_. John had laughed, semen dripping out of his mouth and lifted his arm to wipe his mouth but Sherlock had pulled him into a kiss, their lips slippery and hot with Sherlock's semen.

* * *

 

They had sent Rosie to stay with Sherlock's parents for a week. They needed the time together, alone. They had used it well. Hands and mouths and cocks and kisses and burying themselves deep inside each other, every day bathing in the joy of each other's bodies. Sherlock hadn't known it was in them, this heady unrelenting desire. They could have been twenty years old, full of semen and lust and heads cloudy with the need to get laid. John remembered that time of his life with a mix of ruefulness and wistfulness. Sherlock said he had been celibate. _Of course, John had said. But what about now?_ Sherlock had pushed him down on the couch and climbed on top, his hands tangled in John's hair and said _and now all I want to do is ride your cock_ . John had spat on his fingers, his mouth wet and watering from the kissing, working Sherlock slowly. Spitting and fingering, spitting and fingering until Sherlock had pushed John's shoulders against the back of the couch and lowered himself with impatience onto John's cock, the two of them watching each other with devouring eyes. Their eyes said _I love you_ and _Always_ and _you're a fucking god in the sack_ . They laughed and John said _or on the couch_ and Sherlock had ground himself down onto John, never getting tired of John's cock thrusting deep inside him. John had come, gasping into Sherlock's mouth and then Sherlock had come, thrusting into John's hand, John's tongue and teeth against his throat.

Afterwards, Sherlock had slumped against John and they had stayed like that for a while, Sherlock's cum sticky between them, their sweat clinging to their skin. John was flushed pink and Sherlock's skin splotched with crimson patches.

"You're an absolute slut, did you know that?" John said against Sherlock's temple.

"You've told me that many times," Sherlock said his voice muffled. He had his face pressed against John's neck. "Decades of repression," Sherlock suggested.

"More like _one_ decade of repression," John said. "All of our love and passion for each other pushed down deep inside, hoping the other couldn't see it on our face. Afraid of standing too close for too long. Afraid to let a touch linger. We wore our masks well, didn't we?"

"Yes," Sherlock whispered.

"It may take another ten years to get it all out," John said, chuckling.

"Oh, good," Sherlock answered. "Because you love being a dirty little slut as much as I do."

* * *

Later, in bed, the two of them flushed with desire again, Sherlock pushed John down on his stomach, his arms aligned with his torso, palms up. His legs were close together so that his whole body made a straight line. He wasn’t sure what he would do with John yet; he mostly just liked looking at him when he was laid out like that, vulnerable and exposed. It made him feel both protective and determined to drive John beyond reason with arousal.

Having someone on their stomach was partially an act of dominance but it wasn't as simple as that either.

For Sherlock, it was about building anticipation in John. He couldn't determine what Sherlock was about to do because he couldn't see Sherlock. The longer Sherlock did nothing, the more time John had to guess what Sherlock was _about_ to do. His heart rate would go up, his breathing would come faster, his nerves went from alert to alarmed in anticipation so that when Sherlock finally touched John, his reaction was intensified which fed Sherlock's desire to intensify it even more. It was an erotic, powerful circle.

Sherlock watched John lying there, trying to keep still, and decided he was going to lick John from his heels to his shoulders. Why not? He hadn't ever tried it before and they both knew he would never get tired of the taste of John, regardless of whether it was his sweat, his tongue, his cum.

He bit and licked and sucked his way up John's legs. John's response was what Sherlock had expected until he got to John's knees. He dipped his tongue into the little hollow on the side of the tendon on the inside of the knee. John let out a long, open-mouthed groan, pressing his face in the pillow to hide it. Sherlock grinned to himself and tipped his head back in near ecstasy. Oh, he'd found something new to exploit and he would exploit it to its fullest.

He applied his teeth next and then sucked on the skin, drawing a speckling of blood to the surface. John continued to make indecent noises into the pillow and Sherlock was so hard he thought he would combust right there. He moved to the hollow on John's other knee. He alternated knees, lips, tongue, teeth, and sucking, not allowing a pattern to develop. Every once in awhile he would lick the inside of John's thighs.

"Be still," Sherlock said and then bit the inside of John's knee. "Or I'll stop."

It was clear, though, that John was having a harder and harder time keeping still. Sherlock pushed John's legs apart a little bit more each time and gradually worked his way up further. He surreptitiously squeezed a small amount of lube onto his two middle fingers and as he licked and sucked his way up John's legs, Sherlock started fingering him.

"Don't you dare move," Sherlock said when John began pushing his arse harder against Sherlock's hand.

He fingered John's arse harder, deeper, wanting to lay himself over John and fuck him, his whole body holding John prisoner. His self-control had improved considerably in the previous month, including his stamina. That didn't change the fact that he wanted to have sex with John at every opportunity. Sherlock felt John had more self-control because he didn't want Sherlock as much as Sherlock wanted him. So moments like these, when John was absolutely vibrating with hopeless longing were priceless to Sherlock. He was determined to draw them out as much as he possibly could.

He licked the inside of John's left thigh, his fingers finding the spot that caused John to writhe in ecstasy.

"I swear to God Sherlock, if you don't let me fuck you or at least bring me off with your hand, I'll – I'll never – "

At that, Sherlock withdrew his fingers from John's arse and flipped him over into the middle of the bed. He was about to take John's cock in his mouth when John pushed Sherlock down on his back, popped open the lube and squirted a healthy amount over his cock.

"I was going to – "

"Too fucking bad," John said.

He put one arm around Sherlock's left knee and bent forward and in between his shoulder and his arm, Sherlock's leg folded at the knee. John pushed his way forward and thrust his cock deep inside Sherlock.

There was an intense flare of pain and Sherlock grunted. John's face held no remorse. Before Sherlock could adjust, John was slamming into him. Sherlock gritted his teeth against the hurt and forced himself to relax. It subsided quickly into pleasure. When John came, Sherlock was going to get behind him and fuck him as relentlessly as Sherlock was being fucked right then.

It didn't take long for John to come. Sherlock had drawn the foreplay out considerably – probably forty-five minutes at least. John probably could've held out longer but the way he was fucking Sherlock made it clear that orgasm was the goal. He pushed himself deep inside Sherlock when he came, his back arching and the sounds he made were beautiful. Sherlock never got tired of hearing John's voice when he came.

Before he could really recover, Sherlock dragged himself out from under John and then got behind him.

"At least give me – "

"Absolutely not," Sherlock said, lifting John up by his hips.

He pushed himself inside John who immediately tensed up but the fact that he was still recovering from his orgasm made the suddenness of it less uncomfortable than it had been for Sherlock. Sherlock pounded relentlessly into John, forcing John to push against the bed with his hands lest Sherlock drive the two of them over the foot of the bed and onto the floor.

They had both been surprised repeatedly by the insatiability of their arduousness over the previous four days. It was incredible. They were getting off three, four times a day.

Sherlock sat back on his knees, pulling John with him, driving John upward with every thrust. He put one arm around John's chest, holding him there and with the other, he grabbed John around the waist. John reached back and dug his hands through Sherlock's hair, grabbing tightly, tugging handfuls of his hair, scraping his nails over Sherlock's scalp.

Sherlock was jerking with the strength of his orgasm and he put his teeth on the back of John's left shoulder and bit him hard enough to draw blood. John's hand smacked Sherlock in the face at the same time that he yelled, "Fucking hell, Sherlock!"

Sherlock felt both guilty and triumphant. A month ago, when Sherlock had been found flirting with a bartender in a pub in Soho, John had given him a lesson in 'ownership.' In other words, John 'owned' Sherlock

"Now you know that I own you, too," Sherlock said hoarsely.

He licked the bite mark and John sucked in a sharp breath and tried to pull away but Sherlock held him tight. He sucked at the bite while John kept trying to pull away until John managed to get his hand between them and pinch Sherlock's nipple.

"Ouch!" Sherlock laughed and let John go.

"You're a bloody maniac, you are," John said, rubbing his shoulder and trying to see the mark but it was too close to the back of his neck to see.

"Yes, but I'm _your_ maniac," Sherlock said, pulling John down beside him. He kissed him gently on the lips.

They were utterly exhausted and Sherlock was quite sore. Well, they both were. It was after midnight. Where had all the time gone? No mind, it was all time quite well spent.

"I'm going to take a shower," John said, getting up. He stumbled, which made Sherlock chuckle.

"Judging by the weakness in your legs, I'd say you've just been properly shagged. Clearly you have a skilled and implacable lover."

"He's a fucking twat, actually," John mumbled, heading into the hall.

"It was only what you deserved!" Sherlock yelled after him. He sat for a moment, then followed. He could use a shower himself, and it was more economical to share, right?

Fifteen minutes later, after a hot shower in which no sex was had, although there might have been a bit of kissing, Sherlock collapsed on the bed while John applied a balm to Sherlock’s tortured hole, apologizing for being so rough earlier.

“Well, I won’t say I _asked_ for it, but I could have been a little more careful about torturing you.”

“You don’t deserve it, Sherlock.” John shook his head. “Don’t ever let me do that again.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you think,” Sherlock said, and wrapped John up in his arms. “I rather liked the idea of your cock as a hammer and me as the nail. Perhaps just a few taps next time before hammering the nail home?”

“Forgive me?”

“Don’t be absurd. Of course I forgive you.”

They laid their wet heads on the same pillow in the middle of the bed and wrapped themselves up in each other, legs tangled together. John put his hand on Sherlock’s cheek and Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled.

“I love you,” John whispered.

“I know,” Sherlock said without opening his eyes.

“Smug bastard,” John said.

“You’re a god in the sack,” Sherlock answered.

“Finally!” John laughed and Sherlock opened his eyes and kissed his laughing lips.

* * *

 

By the time Sherlock's parents had dropped Rosie off, Sherlock and John were completely spent. It had been seven days of ruthless pursuit of pleasure, using each other's bodies with a roughness that was unusual in their normal habits of lovemaking. But they had needed it, for whatever reason. Maybe it was a result of the long, hot summer that had driven them apart and the bartender in October and the fear both of them felt at the impending wedding.

Whatever the reason, it had been a brutal, wonderful, punishing, delicious week. That whole last day had been spent in gentle caresses, secret smiles, sweet kisses. It was like they were saying _thank you_ to each other. Thank you for getting out all of the frustration and heartache and fear they had been feeling for nearly six months.

"My goodness, the two of you look worn out! What did you get up to this week?" Sherlock's mother asked, when she dropped Rosie off. "You promised no cases. If you're looking like that because you've been going on cases, I shall be very disappointed!

"We just lay around the house, being lazy," Sherlock answered. "Hello, you!" he said to Rosie as she launched himself into her arms.

"Oi!" John said. "Why does _he_ get a hug first?"

"You got to love me all the time, Daddy. Sherlock only got to love me sometimes."

"What do you mean by that, Rosie?" Sherlock asked.

"Daddy was already first daddy. You're second daddy so you don't got as much love from me until we came here to live with you!"

Being referred to as _second daddy_ nearly undid him. He froze, swallowing his tears until Rosie wrapped her arms around his neck again. He relaxed against her, pressing his face into her shoulder.

"Oh, she's a little angel, isn't she?" Mrs. Holmes said. "I'd given up hope at having grandchildren."

Sherlock and John looked up at Mrs. Holmes.

"Granddaughter?' Sherlock asked faintly.

"Well, I know she's only your stepdaughter, Sherlock," Mrs. Holmes said huffily. "That still makes her my step-granddaughter. However, I would prefer to dispense with the _step_ and just call her my granddaughter."

"That's good," Sherlock said, pulling back to look at Rosie. "Because she's my _daughter_ , not my stepdaughter. She's John's and Mary's and mine."

"Okay, now you can got my love, first Daddy," Rosie said, springing from Sherlock's lap into John's.

"It's quite a mouthful saying _first daddy_ and _second daddy_ , don't you think, love?" John asked Rosie. "Shouldn’t we think of another name for Sherlock?"

"No," Rosie said sternly. "He's Sherlock! Why would I give him 'nother name?"

"You can call me whatever you want, Rosamunde," Sherlock said, leaning over.

"See?" she said to John as though John was also about to be put on Rosie's You Are An Idiot list. "Sherlock knows."

She patted Sherlock on the cheek and he couldn't help himself. He kissed her hand and then turned and pressed his face into John's neck.

These Watsons. They were a light in the dark night; the hymn in an empty church. They were everything he'd never known he wanted.

"I've been thinking, boys, and we really should start planning the wedding if we're going to have it at Christmas," Mrs. Holmes said.

"Uh, we'll give you a call Mrs. Holmes, yeah?" John said, putting an arm around Sherlock as he felt Sherlock's tears against his neck. "Thank you for watching Rosie."

"Don't leave it too late," she said, wagging her finger at him.

"No, of course. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah? Ta," John said as she left the flat. "What's wrong, my love?" he asked Sherlock.

"You Watsons!" Sherlock's voice was muffled against John's neck.

"What about us?" John asked, smiling. He turned and kissed Sherlock's head.

"You've ruined me," Sherlock said, pulling back to look at John.

"Should we be sorry?" John asked.

"Absolutely not," Sherlock answered and hastily wiped his face off with his hands. "I can't imagine anything more devastating than having a Watson-less life."

**Author's Note:**

> There are many arguments about the appropriate usage of the word "come" versus "cum." I would like to clarify my standing on the issue. Come is a verb. Cum is a noun. It's unlikely I will ever be convinced otherwise.
> 
> I use 'come' when someone is having an orgasm. I use 'cum' to refer to semen.
> 
> We associate the word 'cum' with pornography so I use it to add an extra feeling of lustiness to a scene. I use it when I want to make it clear that my characters are getting down and dirty. They've dispensed with civility. They're having at each other. They're fucking like animals.
> 
> I use the word 'cum' sparingly BECAUSE it's a word we associate with pornography and this series is about two people in love. I don't want to devolve into tasteless pornography.
> 
> So far in this series, I think I've used the word 'cum' once and that was in dialogue.
> 
> In this episode, however, I use it quite a few times because this episode was down and dirty smut. It's extra smutty. As anyone who knows me will tell you, I OWN my smuttiness. I'm proud of my smut.
> 
> I might be SLIGHTLY embarrassed about the the smuttiness in this episode but ONLY slightly.
> 
> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com  
> Teddy


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